Soap Carving: Siamese cat, Student Work

Final

From behind

Yoga challenge

Home at last

Love at first sight

In the litter-box

Family photos

In progress photos

Soap

Touch Project - #2

Reaching Out

Edward Webber

14 x 17 '', graphite on Bristol Vellum paper

Quote from A Natural History  of the Senses - Diane Ackerman

Chapter: Touch, Section: The Hand

"Throughout history, palm-readers have chosen the hand as their symbolic link to the psyche and soul, as their raft through time. After all, the hand is action, digs roads and builds cities, it throws spears and diapers babies. Even its small dramas - dialing a phone number, pushing a button -  can change the course of nations or launch atomic bombs. When we are distressed, we allow our hands to console each other by wringing, stroking, fidgeting, and caressing them as if they were separate people" (Ackerman 116).

Artist Statement

A drawing taking inspiration from Diane Ackerman’s A Natural History of the Senses, section: The Hand found on page 116. The artwork depicts an open left hand with a medium of graphite and rub on Bristol Vellum paper. Using a blade to etch out markings for the palm as well as a blunt pencil to mark the back of the paper providing an additive texture to represent the appearance of brail. The artwork is about touch as a navigation tool for the use of the visually impaired. The hand stands for anyone whose use of touch serves them beyond the “common sense” which applies to musicians, home economists, the blind, and many other individuals.

In-Progress photos

Touch Project - #1

Fatal Attraction

Edward Webber
Word Count: 1,267

Fatal Attraction

Auburn eyes that could cook pancakes were on me like the Summer sun. Beautiful and too beguiling to keep focus on what I was doing. The way he surveyed me was the look boys made when they spotted a hot ride. I guess you could say I was his choice, but maybe he just found me handsome. Giving him no sign of notice I resumed my station touching the white keys on a black post that made a noise I define to be Heaven. Out of reach and out of sight the music was taking me to the clouds and my eyes were doused in the melody, until I felt a velvet hand take me back to ground level and to my surprise it was him. His arced mouth revealing the pearls of Venus blinded my vison in the process. For a boy of 21 I still inhibited my high school awkwardness and responded with a subtle shrug. The boy’s lips were lush and plump like fruit; it was tempting to take a bite. My thoughts were peaking like a growth spurt and this was very hexing to me. These feelings ever only pertained to an attractive female. The nature of these impure thoughts was immoral to my own terms of cognition. I was putting a stop to this for good; I wanted kids my future wife would provide. My countenance turned into ink and I seeped into his gaze, staining his heart and beauty at once. “What is the issue?” his hand on my shoulder: a warmth radiating through my system. I resisted and reclined myself to my feet and he was in my way. “You in the way will become an issue” I retorted with aggression, after all he was too direct for me to be kind. “I find you attractive and thought you should hear it coming from my lips” his words were liquid to be evaporated as I was churning in anger. The reception of his compliment was having no effect on me. This boy was bothering me and I had tolerance for blokes that knew when to quit; he had no limits to stop. “Thanks, but those words matter to me when a girl spits them on me” I replied. His distance to me went back a step as he processed my comeback. “Well I cannot tell what this means to me, but I find you very alluring and maybe you could extend the same courtesy since you couldn’t stop yourself from looking back” he enjoyed the confrontation as he smirked with each take. If it meant I had to humor him I could make it worth his while. I ran my fingers down his chest which was a mistake when his marble wall had a hill forming. “Fuck, this turns you on?” “It does, and you blushing gives me a sign that you need a moment to yourself.” He finally gave way with his muscular arm pointing to the direction I was taking. I ran to the men’s room feeling the germ-infested door with my “ungloved” hand. I was in there for half an hour sitting on a stall when I heard the door creek open. A pair of feet proceeded inward and I could only guess what body they attached to. “If it is you, I am not interested, my queer feelings are irrelevant and I am not to engage in them any further” my words were curt but straight to the point with an absence of temper. “I wish to speak with you, I have to confess my part in all this.” “Why?” “My name is Henry and I apologize if I was too persistent with you” he said almost out of breath. He was crying, what did I do to deserve his tears. I unlocked the door and he fell to the ground ducking his head into his lap like an armadillo. “Get up, Henry get a grip on yourself!” I was firm and he needed to hear it. I reached out for his hand and he took it gingerly. As I hoisted him up his hands came for my neck and he ate my face. I tasted the fruit and it was not ripe. His lips shifted up and down my mouth which was closed and a tongue protruded like a key into a door: it was the wrong key for my mouth did not budge. When he went for seconds, I pushed him to the wall and kicked him in his groin; he didn’t need those gonads anyway. I barged out of the restroom and was heading for my car and then I was stopped, the Catholic in me told me to go back. I felt guilty for what I did and he lay there motionless. I approached him slowly, hoping I didn’t kill him and I found a red spot in his crotch area. The blood was dark so I know this was not good. He was breathing and I placed my hand on his head and he was heating up. Putting a compress from a drying towel with some water I placed it over his forehead, then I unzipped his pants to examine the damage I caused him. His privates were lacerated and one of his testes burst. I ran to the faucet and gathered towels to stop the bleeding and unwillingly kissed him to revive his conscious state. He woke up and I felt his hand in mind and went along with this stupidity to provide answers for myself. To make a long story short we were in a relationship of sorts. I would do things to entice his attraction for me such as groping him, running my hands through his maple hair, and never taking my eyes off him. I came to the conclusion that he was in fact gay when he said he wanted to be closer to me. “How close Hen?” my name for him which he took fondness to. “Well, may we sleep together?” he inquired kissing me between words. When he kissed me, it was disgusting at first but I figured it’s like when you eat a popsicle: your lips numb eventually. I felt his tongue wrap around mine and it did nothing to me sexually. His lips were vicious and he was too forceful in his actions. “I don’t know, you would be the first guy for me and I don’t have the capacity to endure you in bed.” “I see sex as a method for procreation, the pleasures of flesh are a bonus when I know I’m creating life with someone.” His face was neutral fighting back a temper I only saw once; the night I told him I was crushing over a girl. It did happen, the game I played was outmatched when I saw a woman with beauty that spoke to me despite the man “I was with.” “You do not love me” Henry was angry gritting his teeth as he spoke. I confessed the truth and told him that I only went along with the relationship to gather an answer to a question I had from the very beginning. Eventually I was tapping into feelings I knew were wrong but I couldn’t go through with this. It was too much. “I can’t love someone who is biologically incapable of producing children for me.” “I don’t love you and I never did” confirming his assumption. He wore a devil’s countenance and charged at me: the betrayer he loved. Taking one last look as he took all my oxygen from body.

Quote from A Natural History  of the Senses - Diane Ackerman

Chapter: Touch, Section: Kisses

"We most often touch a lover's genitals before we actually see them. For the most part, our leftover puritanism doesn't condone exhibiting ourselves to each other naked before we've kissed and fondled first. There is an etiquette, a protocol, even in impetuous, runaway sex. But kissing can happen right away, and, if people care for each other, then it's less a prelude to mating than a sign of deep regard. There are wild, hungry kisses or there are rollicking kisses, and there are kisses fluttery and soft as the feathers of cockatoos. It's as if, in the complex language of love, there were a word that could only be spoken by lips when lips touch, a silent contract sealed with a kiss" (Ackerman 109).

Artist Statement

A narrative taking inspiration from Diane Ackerman’s A Natural History of the Senses, section: Kisses found on page 109. The plot follows a young adult man who experiences an encounter with a man whom he believes to be homosexual. The object of his suspicion is to entice the man to catch him in a state of attraction. Eventually the man finds feelings that he only shared with the opposite sex. The couple of men find themselves in a crossroads when one denounces the other’s affection. Resulting in the man’s lover murdering him in cold blood.

In-Progress photos